


Pancake Day 1706

by DreamingPagan, Sirenswhisper



Series: Graced [7]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, In Which Pancake Day is a Thing in Nassau, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, post Full of Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:08:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13867938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenswhisper/pseuds/Sirenswhisper
Summary: They are, perhaps, doing Lent backwards, James thinks. After all - they have come from deprivation into what appears to be Hal Gates' attempt to put fifty pounds on himself and Thomas in one day, to say nothing of the rest of the crew.





	Pancake Day 1706

**Author's Note:**

> This is a month late, but that seems to be the pattern of my life lately. Have some Pancake Day fic!
> 
> With major big thanks to my co-writer, Sirenswhisper, without whom this would still be languishing unwritten.

Pancake day, Thomas thinks, is going rather well. The kitchen smells like frying bread, there is flour everywhere, including on the cook, and there is about to be a significant quantity of the stuff in James’ hair if he is not careful. Or rather, if Thomas gets close enough.

“James - come here, I need a hand - no, Thomas, don’t you bloody dare, there’s enough flour flying about.” Hal’s tone is no nonsense, and Thomas sighs, and shoots his husband’s step-father a look of thwarted mischief. James turns, and Thomas pointedly dusts his hands, grinning at the sight of James’ indignant expression.

“If you get that in my hair, I’ll make you stand here all day and flip these,” he threatens, and Thomas sits back in his chair.

“You’d never dare,” he answers. “We’ve established that I have no cooking skill.” James gives him a look.

“You wouldn’t dare burn the pancakes,” he counters, and Thomas grins.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “I wouldn’t. Muldoon would have my head.”

“Too right I would,” the bald pirate in question answers, and sticks his head into the room again. He looks at Gates and snorts. “Remind me why you’re quartermaster and not cook?” 

“Because if I had to do this all day every day, I’d poison the lot of you and then set fire to the ship,” Gates answers. “Have the lads finished bringing in the supplies?” 

“Aye,” Muldoon answers with a grin. “Best hurry up with the first batch - Joji’s eyeing that sword of his, and Mr. De Groot’s getting growly.” 

“Well tell their Highnesses that if they want something, they can - ah, Eirnin. Have you met Muldoon?”

Hennessey and Muldoon regard one another.

“You’re the husband,” Muldoon says, and Hennessey nods.

“Happily, yes,” he answers, and then looks surprised when Muldoon begins to grin. 

“Hey lads,” he says, “he’s real! Come on - come and meet the crew. Joji! You owe me five dollars!” 

“You had bets on the matter?” Hennessey asks.

“Well, you can’t blame us,” Muldoon answers. “You turn up out of nowhere and suddenly Mr. Gates is married?”

“Very married,” Gates says, and reaches out. He gathers Hennessey to him, kissing him soundly, and James groans from behind them.

“That’s my  _ father, _ ” he reminds loudly. 

Hennessey grins, and kisses Gates again, rubbing his nose against his husband’s. Gates’ hand goes to his hip to rub soft circles there, and the faint sound of gagging emanates from behind them as Hennessey shivers.

“Alright, you’ve tortured the poor man enough,” Miranda tells them with an amused tone to her voice as she walks past. She hands Muldoon a stack of plates and shoos him out the door. 

“Come on - you’ll still be married in a few hours,” De Groot says, herding them toward the table. “Joseph - the captain’s father’s coming in, budge up!”  

The crew, Thomas thinks, has gotten larger, or he has miscounted several times when trying to gauge the size of it. 

“James, have you been recruiting?” he asks.

******************************************************

“We could mingle in.” 

The words come from Jack, who is sitting beside Charles. His friend, Charles thinks, looks nervous - or at least less than certain of the suggestion he’s just made. 

“Flint’s bosun sees everything,” Charles answers. “You think we’re getting past him and you’re in for a fucking surprise.”

“So what?” Anne asks, and Charles throws her a look. 

“You met Randall?” he asks, and she glowers.

“Ain’t worth shit in a fight,” she answers, and Jack lays a hand on her shoulder. 

“That may be, but I was rather under the impression that we had come here with the express intention of being fed rather than summarily banned,” he points out. She huffs, but concedes the point by lowering her chin and thus hiding her face under her hat, and Charles goes back to his contemplation of the situation.

“Could just ask,” he suggests grudgingly. “Can’t hurt, and if they turn us down -”

“Captain Vane.” 

Charles whirls, and finds, to his horror, that Miranda Hamilton stands in the doorway of the very house that they are contemplating, her hands on her hips, looking both amused and satisfied with herself. 

“Ma’am.” Jack recovers first - he stands, and bows at the waist, and Miranda quirks one brow.

“Mr. Rackham,” she answers, and Jack rises again, looking startled.

“You - know my name,” he says, and Miranda smiles.

“I know you by reputation,” she says, “If half the stories are true, I believe you and my husband might get along famously.” 

“They’re true,” Charles says, also rising. “If you overheard our conversation, then I’m sure you noticed that I suggested to these two savages that we ask if we could -”

“Charles.” Miranda cuts him off, and Charles stops talking.

“Mrs. Hamilton?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes.

“If you continue with your attempt to be diplomatic I am afraid you may strain something,” she tells him. “Come inside. Anne, it would probably be best if you were to leave at least your daggers at the door.”

“I eat with these.” 

There is a pause, and then Miranda blinks. 

“You may keep one,” she concedes. “Come along, if we hurry you can wash it before dinner.” 

************************************************************

“I’m going to explode if I eat another bite.”

The words come from Hennessey’s left, where Thomas sits - no, not sits. He is practically laying in his chair rather than sitting, head back, and the plate in front of him still bears part of its load of pancakes, although the stack is much reduced.

Hennessey makes a vague noise of agreement. It is all he himself can manage at the moment - he is exceptionally full, and becoming more lethargic by the moment. Hal is also rubbing circles on his back at the moment, and if he raises his gaze to the other occupants of the table, he can just about spot their grins. He can hear the clink of money changing hands, and deliberately ignores it, choosing instead to lean into his husband’s touch. He leans his head on Hal’s shoulder, and is rewarded with a kiss to his temple.

There is no sound of James groaning, for once - Hennessey thinks he might have gone to sleep, but can’t be certain. In any case, he can’t muster any concern over it - sleep is overtaking him, and he surrenders to it, leaning against Hal as his husband starts to snore.

************************************

“James - please take these away from me.” Thomas pushes the pancakes away from himself, and James gives his husband a grin. 

“You want them?” James asks. He picks the plate up and offers it to Anne.

“Ate too much,” Anne groans, and leans back in her chair. Her eyes close again, and Miranda resumes brushing her hair. Her decorative shells lie out on the table in a neat row, and James notices with amusement that on the other side of the table, Rackham is watching with awe on his face at Anne’s current state of relaxation. 

“Remind me,” he says to Charles, “to stop by the millinery shop after our next haul.” 

Charles looks up, and his eyes brighten at the plate in James’ hand. 

“I’ll take that,” he says, and James hands over the plate, watching with amusement as the younger man begins scarfing down the remaining pancakes.

“Remember those days?” he asks Thomas, whose eyes flutter open. 

“Vividly,” he answers. “I once grew three inches in the space of two weeks.” He closes his eyes again, and relaxes back against his chair. “This is perfect,” he murmurs, and smiles at the sensation of James reaching out to rub his thigh. He reaches up lazily and runs his hand through James’ hair, which is still in the process of growing back. 

“Better than I had imagined,” James admits, and grasps hold of Thomas’ hand, squeezing it gently. He nudges his husband in the ribs, and Thomas frowns minutely. 

“What -?” he starts to ask muzzily, and James directs his attention to Hennessey and Gates, further down the table.

“I’ve never seen him so happy,” he says, and Thomas smiles. 

“Same for Mr. Gates,” Muldoon says, and James turns a lazy eye to him. “Evening, captain,” the short man says, and stands up from the table. 

“Heading back to town?” Charles asks, and Muldoon grins. 

“Figured I’d best leave before all the good hammocks in the camp are taken,” he answers. “I’ll round up Joji and them on the way out.”

“Oh no you don’t,” James says. “The first man that tries to get out of washing up duty will spend the next week on the middle watch. Go on - get to the kitchen.” 

“I’m fairly certain Mr. De Groot and Dr. Howell have left already,” Thomas says sleepily. 

“Well then De Groot had better hope I don’t need him before ten o'clock for the next week,” James grumbles, and heaves himself to his feet. 

“Alright. Time to get moving -” 

He gives a yelp, and then falls back down into his chair as Thomas tugs on his belt.

“James,” he says, “sit down.”

“Yes,” Miranda agrees, “please do. I’m going to need another hand with Anne’s braid. Hold it - yes, just so.”

Anne looks up, and James freezes.

“Don’t pull,” she tells him, and he gives Miranda a look.

“I seem to have acquired a daughter,” she says jokingly, and Anne settles back into her chair, a hint of what might almost be a smile on her face.

“Keep doing that, and we’ll talk.”

James sits back in his chair, and does as he's asked, and reflects that cleanup can wait until he is slightly less full.


End file.
